Page 35 of Provoked

She pinches my side anyway in a way that always meant she was serious.

“Ow! You’re supposed to be all grown up now.” I grimace at her.

Rose smirks. “Technically, we were both grownups when we met, but we both know better. Now spill.”

I lean back against the counter. “I’m wondering if Justin and I are meant only to be a distraction for each other.”

My best friend frowns. “What brought that on?”

I gesture widely with my hand. “We don’t have this… Not the house. I mean the ease.”

“We didn’t either at first. And right now we’re both tired, so you might be seeing a false calm. Aiden gets on my nerves when he gets extra bossy and I get on his when I don’t immediately adhere to his recommendations. Could be anything from how long I brush my teeth to whether green is good for the nursery walls. If he’s read it in a reputable journal, he’s usually immediately on board. I’m more skeptical.”

Rose pats me on the shoulder and then pushes me gently into the living room. She steals baby Rory from Aiden, who promptly frowns at losing his daughter before plopping her into my lap. Immediately I’m captivated. Her blue eyes are already starting to lighten closer to the shade of Aiden’s. She stares at me like she knows the meaning of life, and all I have to do is ask the right question.

I spend the next few days resting as much as possible. I’m determined to get my strength back because something tells me I’m going to need it. Fred checks in via text message. I’m already well aware that the media is hyping this exposé and while I’m certain it will land on me, somehow nobody is spilling any of the specifics. So we wait.

Kate swings by to clean the apartment and I tell her to take the month off because I don’t want her being harassed by paparazzi if this thing blows up. She frowns at me. “You think I’m too old to handle a few nosy reporters?”

I shake my head emphatically. “No. Not at all. I think I’m too old to lose the only housekeeper who keeps turning down better job offers and continues to come back. This could get vicious, Kate. I’m talking end up in the hospital bad. I’m not worth it. Some minor dust in the guestroom definitely isn’t.”

She sniffs, but doesn’t argue. “Where’s your new wife in all this?”

I groan, wondering who told her. Or is that tidbit also making the rounds in the media and somehow I’ve just missed it? Or Fred held it back. “Well out of it. And I want her to stay there.”

“I’m not letting things go for more than thirty days,” she warns me. I nod, restraining my smile of victory.

Kate finishes up and leaves with a cheery wave. I return to moping around the place. Ingrid has sent me a few pictures and texts. I’ve responded just enough and slow enough to put some distance between us without arousing her protective ire. The last thing I want is her flying here to save me from my prior mistakes. Let the media assume she’s so disgusted by whatever they have that she’s left me. Then hopefully it will die down before they can find her and she won’t be touched by any of it.

Thursday night finally arrives. In this era of streaming and everything on demand, it feels weird to be stationed on my couch waiting for the initial commercial break to draw to a close. The hype has only gotten worse in the last twenty-four hours. And while it makes me cringe to watch Margot smirk on the large screen TV, I force myself to study her every nuance. She’s gloating. Even as she holds forth from a bamboo settee placed under a tropical cabana.

“I couldn’t stay. Not once I knew… I understood Justin had a ruthless side, that was hard to miss.” She laughs without humor, her eyes glinting with malice. “But I never imagined he would prey on a young, vulnerable girl like that. No right-thinking person would, you know? It’s hard to picture such cold-blooded brutality until you’re confronted with the evidence.” She takes a shuddering breath and a sip from some tropical drink.

“And you came across such evidence?” the interviewer asks a little too helpfully.

Margot nods. “Oh, yes.” Another bitter laugh. “I saw the security footage from inside his apartment. It showed him coming out of her bedroom in the middle of the night. Over and over and over.”

Fuck. On so many levels. First of all, she’s lying because there have never been cameras inside my apartment for very obvious reasons. None of which was because I was fucking underage girls. Bile rises in my mouth at the very thought. Somehow she’s learned about Ingrid’s nightmares, but I don’t see how. Ingrid would be the last person to share that with her. And I notice there’s no mention of Ingrid’s age, so the average viewer is left thinking it’s even worse.

“And the girl in question? Why was she even there?”

“She was his ward. She had nowhere else to go. Can you imagine? And now he’s compounded his evil hold on her by forcing her to marry him.” The interviewer gasps.

“No doubt she’s too old to hold his interest now, but her money isn’t.”

I grind my teeth. This is going from bad to worse. I’m sort of surprised the police aren’t already knocking on the door.

“I don’t suppose you were able to save any of the footage?” The reporter asks hopefully.

“No.” Margot shakes her head with regret. “If I had, I would have taken it straight to the police. But it disappeared the very next day. Like he knew it had been reviewed. So then it would just be his word against mine. And with the power he wields in the city…” She gives an exaggerated shiver of fright. “That’s why I’m only saying something now that I’m here. I may have had to leave everything dear behind me to save my own life, but I can do this little extra bit to repent for my earlier silence. That poor girl!”

The rest of the hour is just rehashing and reinforcing the same basic rumor, along with extensive and expensive commercial breaks. What the hell are they paying Margot for this piece of pulp fiction? I reach for my phone to order Fred to find out, only to see that my messages have blown up. Not from concerned colleagues or outraged citizens, but Ingrid. My stomach sinks.

19

I can’t believe I almost missed it. The only reason I knew to tune into Margot’s media farce is Rose happened to hear about it in one of her author groups, of all places. The instant I saw the satisfied smirk on Margot’s face, I knew this was going to be big trouble. Five minutes in, I’m already trying to call Justin, but he’s not answering. Either he’s dead or he has his phone on silent. By this point, he should be answering just to yell at me to stop, even if he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Heaving a mighty sigh of frustration, I consider my other options. There aren’t any. But I’m not just going to sit here and watch everything around Justin implode without doingsomething. Maybe I’m being selfish in demanding his attention, but I’m not losing him to Margot’s manipulations. Not this time. I pace Rose’s lovely guestroom. She offered to put the show up on the bigger TV in the living room, but I opted to be alone for this. Partially so I could swear unreservedlybut also because this is my problem and sympathy, as lovely as it would be, isn’t going to solve it.

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